


White Feather

by Nicola Mody (Vilakins)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Drama, F/M, Humour, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-01-08
Updated: 2003-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-05 15:26:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/43168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vilakins/pseuds/Nicola%20Mody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did Servalan always call Vila by his first name and know he was a coward?</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Feather

  


Morri the Nose parted a beer with that appendage. "Got a nice easy job for you, lad."

"Oh, yes?" Vila said sceptically.

"A steal to order. Jewels." Morri smacked his lips. "Bloody big ones too, or so I hear." His eyes went crafty. "Only chance you'll get, and a feather in your cap too."

Vila tipped his chair back. "I'm well set-up at the moment, thanks. Don't need to work for months, yet."

Morri tapped his impressive nose. "You can put your feet up for years after this one, my son. Not of course that you'd want to, a pro like you. Keep your hand in, like."

"I'll think about it," Vila said, though he liked art and jewellery jobs. Nowhere near as well-defended as cash, and you got to see some nice places. Better than bank vaults anyway, which had a lot in common with cells.

"There's this Fleet General in town, see?"

"Oh, no." Vila shook his head vehemently. "Not Space Fleet."

"Come on, son, you were the one what cracked the Research Institute that time. And she won't even be there."

"She?"

"Yeah, that's the whole point, see. She's usually on her flagship with the Fifth Fleet, Server-whatsit, her name is, but she's here to get a medal. Starburst for action at Silmareno. "

Vila remembered that on the viscasts. "Oh, right. She's worse than old Star-Killer, she is. Killing people who only just sussed fire, and you want to send defenceless little me in to grab a brooch or two?"

"More than a brooch, though she's got a swag of 'em. Chokers, necklaces, bracelets, you name it. She's got a thing for it."

Vila could imagine it. They never showed the bigwigs on the viscasts in case someone recognised them and took a pot-shot at them, but he bet she was built like a battleship and had a face like a fist. And hair cut to a military bristle. Probably had to festoon herself with glitter to convince the troops she was a woman.

"And that's where you come in. Literally." Morri snorted with delight at his own wordplay, and Vila, aware of the state of Morri's permanently infected sinuses, covered his beer with his hand. "While she's getting this medal, you get the rest." Morri, almost overcome with his wit, wiped his watering eyes. "One of the biggest collections in the Federation, she has." He turned serious and gave Vila a shrewd look. "I'll split you fifty-fifty."

"You get twenty-five max," Vila said.

"Forty."

"Twenty-five or nothing." Vila stood up.

"You're a hard man."

Vila, who had not often been accused of that, straightened a little. "I just know my worth. And so do you."

"All right. Done." Morri shrugged, not at all worried. A quarter of one of Vila Restal's hauls was not to be sneezed at, though the metaphor made his nose itch. He rubbed it absently. "She gets the Starburst at the Fleet Day Parade. Any guards at her house will be watching that. Well, so will I, come to think of it. They put on a good show, the Fleet. All them troopers, all in step like little robots. Fair makes you proud, it does." Not of course that patriotism interfered with a good profit.

Vila shuddered. As a little boy, he'd liked to watch too, but ever since his first arrest, uniforms gave him the willies.

"Here you go." Morri slid a piece of paper across the table. "That's where she lives."

Vila grinned. The Enclave. No wonder Morri had called him in.

* * *

  
As the massed might of the cream of the Fifth Fleet wheeled and marched in perfect unison through Fed Square, pulling the largest of their plasma cannon, and inducing a heady mixture of pride and fear in the loyal citizens glued to their vis-screens, Vila let himself into the Enclave at the very top of the Dome.

Up here, where the most aristocratic of the Alpha families like the Tarrants lived, the Dome was transparent, showing the limitless sky which so terrified the lower grades, used to closer confines.

Not Vila though.

Vila had first gone Outside at the tender age of seven, drunk with the power of his newly-discovered talent—any door was a challenge—and in search of somewhere to hide from bullies. He knew where he was, of course, he'd seen pictures in books, and he wasn't at all afraid, there under what he saw as a big blue dome. This place was nice and quiet, it smelled good, he could hear birds singing, and there were sure to be cute furry little animals who might let him be their friend, like in his favourite stories. Strangely, in this life so full of disappointments, some of this turned out to be true, and by the time he found out that the blue above him went on for unimaginable light-years, it was too late to frighten him.

Today the blue was sullen grey, and Vila noticed with disapproval that it had been raining. Not the rain which still fell on the Dome above however, but a light mist generated to water the carefully-tended gardens of the rich and powerful. He hoped he wouldn't be caught in it. They really ought to do it at night in his opinion, but it amused this lot to have their artificial weather match that outside; to some extent anyway.

Vila, who had memorised the location of the Servalan family mansion, walked through the damp streets as if he belonged there—best of disguises, that was—and opened the gate in the white picket fence chez Servalan, raising his eyebrows at the attention to detail: real wood. The big house stood alone, as they all did up here, surrounded by a border of garden. Hearing martial music though a window beside the front door, Vila cautiously peeped in. Two troopers sprawled there, tunics undone and drinks in their hands as they watched the parade with sardonic amusement. Vila nodded with satisfaction and went round the back, disabled the alarm and lock, and went in.

 

He tried three bedrooms before he found the General's one, an austere white room with a palm-lock, almost cell-like in its plainness but for the huge luxurious bed covered in white satin. At first Vila thought he'd drawn another blank, but nothing if not thorough in his chosen profession, he checked the large dressing-room before leaving. It was puzzlingly full of what looked like ball-gowns or fancy-dress, all of them white, red, or black, but a couple of black Fleet uniforms hanging in one corner gave away the owner's identity.

And one whole wall was hung with jewellery.

Vila whistled quietly. Morri hadn't been kidding. There was no way he could lift this lot; he'd have to take only the best pieces, which in this case meant those with the biggest, most well-cut diamonds. Efficiently, Vila made his choices, slipping them into the felt-lined pockets in his multi-layered garments.

He was almost finished when he heard voices, one of them female, and coming his way. He bolted into the bedroom intending to make a run for it, but froze when the voices stopped outside.

"...so I came back early. I do find those parades such a bore, don't you?"

"Yes, General."

_That_ was the General? Her voice, as warm and sweet as melted chocolate, did not sound at all the way he'd imagined.

"And rather tiring," she continued. "I think I shall lie down."

Vila's eyes widened with horror, and he glided back towards the dressing room.

"So you can go back to...whatever it was you were doing."

Vila shut the door behind him and slid behind a rack of ball-gowns just as he heard the bedroom door open. He could hear the man's reply over the pounding of his heart.

"Yes, General. You did give us the half-day off, General."

"Of course I did. Do enjoy it."

"General."

Vila heard the trooper leave and the door close quietly, then, after a pause, the dressing room door open. Between two gowns, he could see a glimpse of black uniform. He closed his eyes, feeling faint and claustrophobic and not at all keen on seeing a naked General of the Fleet, even if she was theoretically a woman.

"Hmm." The General thoughtfully flipped through the lounging-pyjama section, pushing the more formal attire further along the rack to make room.

Vila screwed his face up as it was engulfed in a thickly-feathered bodice. Oh, no. His nose tickled, and not just on the outside. That instinctive breath he'd taken had been a mistake under the circumstances. Think of something else and don't breathe. Think of this all being over, with him displaying his spoils to Morri. No, no, not Morri and his great schnoz...

It was a very small, cat-like sneeze, but Fleet General Servalan paused in her perusal of her wardrobe. "Come on out," she said. "Now."

Vila emerged, prepared to plead innocence, and stared, wide-eyed. _This_ was the General? The only thing he had right was the buzz-cut. The woman was stunningly beautiful—even in her black uniform—with her enormous amber eyes, thick curling lashes, and perfectly-shaped full lips.

Vila licked his. "Uh, sir..."

 

"...valan, that's right."

Oh, he was adorable, with his big brown eyes, softly-tousled dark-blond hair, and a 'butter wouldn't melt in my mouth' look.

"And you are?"

"Vila," he said, in little more than a whisper.

"Vila," Servalan repeated lingering over the syllables. She smiled, and leaned languidly against the door, effectively trapping him. "Come here."

The boy, in his early twenties at most, took a hesitant step towards her, and his eyes dropped to her breast. His eyes widened even more, then flicked, too quickly, back to her face. Ah. The Starburst. Servalan turned her head to the wall opposite the racks and noted the gaps. Yes. That did explain the oddly bulky clothes so at odds with his slender wrists and hands.

"So. A jewel thief. And a very tasteful one, judging by what is missing."

A flash of pride showed as his chin came up. Interesting, and not quite what one expected, and really rather delectable. His jerkin was a faded affair of irregularly-shaped patches designed, she could see at this range, to disguise a surprising number of pockets. She reached out and inserted a couple of fingers into one, and pulled him towards her, so close they were almost touching.

"Tsk. Naughty boy," she said, pulling out a choker. "Mine, I think." She let it fall. "You like my Starburst then?"

His nervous eyes flicked down again to her breast and back to her face, then a flicker of something else showed. Defiance? Humour? "They're...it's very impressive," he said, much more calmly this time.

So, there _was_ more to him. Perhaps she'd play with him a little before calling in the law. "It's the highest award one can get for bravery. I see you have a one appropriate to yours."

"Eh?"

"A white feather." She plucked it from his jerkin and held it before his face. "The traditional symbol of cowardice." She caressed his cheek with it.

Far from being insulted, he took the feather and stuck it rakishly behind one ear. "That's me, professional coward and thief, not necessarily in that order."

His initial fear had passed quickly. Servalan smiled. This would be fun; much more so than that tedious parade. She pulled the door open, and Vila into the bedroom. "I've never...met a thief before."

"That's all right. I've never met a general either."

"And I've always rather wanted to have a villa in a large garden. A small lawn will have to do." She glanced out the window. "Oh, what a pity; it's wet. We shall have to stay here."

"Sorry, I can't. I really have to dash."

_Oh, yes!_ It had been a while since Servalan had met anything approaching resistance. "But I have a proposition for you," she said, reaching out a hand to detain him. "Two in fact. Do sit down." When he did not, she removed her gun from its holster. "But I insist. A pretty little thing, isn't it? I had it especially made. It does, however, work extremely well."

Vila sat abruptly and gracelessly on the bed, and Servalan put her gun back in its place and sat beside him.

"Now then. You're obviously very clever with your hands to break in here. I'm sure a safe or two at Space Fleet Headquarters would be a trifle. They contain some information I should find...very useful to my career."

He put his head on one side, obviously thinking about it.

 

Vila always liked to consider any offer that came his way, but he didn't like the sound of this one. What was to stop her killing him or having him sent away for good? She wouldn't want anyone around who had anything on her, and besides, he didn't want anything she did in the future on his conscience, and he did have one, even if it was a different shape to other people's.

The way he saw it, this was a no-win situation, at least for him. Life seemed the best he could hope for, and that in the legal sense.

"Sorry, I don't do that sort of thing," he said, trying to sound as inoffensive as possible. "I leave politics and that well alone. I just take things from people who don't need them."

"You really ought to reconsider. You are in no position to bargain, dear boy, not while you're positively clanking with the best of my jewellery. I am willing to pay you well."

"Oh?"

"Yes. With your freedom. Give me back my jewels and there is no crime. Well, except for that of...entry."

_Might as well play for time._ "That's hardly fair. What do I get out of it?"

"It's better than prison." Servalan's voice hardened. "Take off that jacket or whatever you call it."

Vila sighed and removed his jerkin, only to reveal more pockets, most of them full.

"Oh, dear. I see that was not sufficient. Strip."

"No!" Vila jumped up, but Servalan grabbed his arm and forced him back to the bed. She was stronger than she looked, and seemed excited rather than annoyed.

"Then I shall have to do it for you," she purred, and pushed him backwards onto the bed. She kissed him thoroughly, and to Vila's mingled pleasure and shame, he couldn't help reciprocating. "Ah, that's better." She lay on top of him, pinning him down. "Now I have you where I want you." She kissed him again and began undoing the first button on his tunic.

She was as tall as Vila and probably weighed about the same; she would not be easy to get away from. A kiss from a beautiful woman was one thing, but Vila hated being helpless; it brought out a panicky feeling of claustrophobia. He could only see one way out of this in which he could be certain of coming out on top, and you had to grab every opportunity you got.

He began to wriggle experimentally.

 

He was struggling—not very effectively—which served only to delight Servalan. Although she demanded submission from her subordinates, it was really rather a bore. She liked a bit of a fight, so long as it was nominal like this one. "You cheeky boy. And now—" She stopped as she felt something hard pressing into her, and she knew just what it was.

"That's right," Vila said, slightly breathlessly. "And I'm not used to handling these things, so you'd better move slowly."

Servalan sat up and Vila rolled off the bed, looking even more rumpled than before, her gun in his hand. Really, this was taking playing hard to get a little far. "Why?" she demanded.

"Sorry." He really did look apologetic. "But I really have to go." He snatched his jerkin up from the floor and backed towards the door. "It was very nice meeting you," he said, as politely as a well-brought-up child, as he closed the door.

Servalan heard him lock it. Idiot! It was keyed to her. She leaped to her feet, ran to it, and slapped her hand against the pad. "Ohhhh!" she cried in fury and realisation when it did not open.

This was the second floor. She would have to climb out the window and down the drainpipe, and in full view of the neighbours, that nosy Dev Tarrant in particular. She would never live this down.

 

"Coward! You're a miserable little coward, Vila!"

The General's furious tirade came quite clearly through the door. Vila winced—a woman scorned and all that—and worked quickly on the lock circuitry. "Look, don't worry, General," he said soothingly. "I've set the door to open in twenty minutes. And I'll leave your gun here too. Those things make me nervous."

A pity, really. It was a lovely piece of work, with its ivory handle inlaid with ebony, and the diamonds set into its barrel. He laid it gingerly on the floor.

"No hard feelings?"

"Coward!"

* * *

  
"Oh, a lovely haul," Morri said. "You've outdone yourself, lad. What's this then? A feather?"

"I'll keep that." Vila took it from him.

"A white one, too. You know, they used to give them things out for cowardice."

"I did know that, yeah." Vila grinned. "But I've also got the highest award there is for bravery in the face of the enemy." He stood up and opened his jerkin.

"The Starburst!" Morri said reverently. "You got her Starburst." He reached out a shaking finger to touch the beautiful thing, an explosion of stars rendered in gold and diamonds.

"Uh-uh." Vila slapped his hand away and stepped back.

"I'll take it off your hands," Morri wheedled. "Same rate as the rest, only a quarter cut for me."

"Oh, right. You'll sell all the other stones separately, but you won't do that with this, will you? It's worth a lot more than the rocks in it. It's got rarity value, a Starburst. A collector will pay through the nose for one, and I've got a good idea how much."

Morri's face fell, then brightened. "I'll find the buyer for you then, for a bigger cut."

"No—you find the buyer first, then I'll hand it over and you can take your twenty-five."

Morri sighed. "Daylight robbery. But that is what you're best at."

* * *

  
Servalan sat thoughtfully in front of her screen. She had him. It had not been difficult; all she had to do was to ask for any Vilas with a history of jewel theft. There was only one—Vila Restal.

The only mug shots showed a frightened boy of twelve being processed into the Juvenile Detention Wards and an older but no less frightened teenager, recognisably her visitor, sentenced to the Correction Facility One penal colony. He had escaped from there at the age of fifteen, nine years ago, and though he had not been caught since, an impressive list of crimes had been ascribed to him on the grounds of modus operandi.

He was obviously much cleverer than he looked. Especially so to have evaded capture once again, and to leave her unable to have him arrested without admitting that she had been locked in her own bedroom on her day of triumph. And he had even left her feeling...rather grateful. After all, he had been as good as his word. The door had opened as he had promised, so her dignity and reputation were quite intact.

She had not even lost much. Even the Starburst could be replaced; she would ask her jeweller to make a copy, saying that she preferred to keep the original locked away.

She smiled and gave the picture on the screen an ironic salute. "You are a coward, Vila, but a clever one."

Perhaps there would be a return engagement. She rather hoped so.

The end

  



End file.
